


This Is Not The End.

by Stormkeeper



Category: 80s - Fandom, Boy George (Musician), Culture Club (Band), Music - Fandom
Genre: Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Boys In Love, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Culture Club, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Forbidden Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Jon Moss - Freeform, Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Mikey Craig - Freeform, Roy Hay - Freeform, Sad Ending, Tragic Romance, True Love, boy george - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-23 05:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12499364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormkeeper/pseuds/Stormkeeper





	This Is Not The End.

Grey, gloomy clouds cast over the sky, bringing drizzle. Everything was quiet - silent in fact, forcing Jon to be alone with his thoughts. The dining room table seemed bigger than usual - lonelier than usual. He rested his jaw on an enclosed fist. How did it get this far? How could he let it get so far? He let out a sigh, or maybe it was a cry for help - it was hard to tell these days. He traced the scar on his arm, red and raw from the last fight. Bang. His fist met the rock hard wood of the table. Bang again. His head shortly followed. Repeatedly, but steadily, he hit the table - mumbling aggressively. The time - 4pm. He hadn't heard a word from anyone in days. Perhaps, they'd forgotten about him? The frustration was mounting. He hadn't changed his clothes, showered, eaten or slept in days, the only thing he'd drink was something strong and alcoholic. Every attempt at closing his eyes, he just saw him - standing, like an angel. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape his image. He loved him so much that he couldn't stand him - or maybe it was himself he hated? His head was pounding. As he downed a glass of water, he stared blankly yet longingly out of the kitchen window. The pavement was wet and the streets were mostly empty. As if by magic, there he was - cigarette in one hand, shopping bags in the other, walking with his friend (and Jon's nemesis). George looked up, allowing their eyes to meet. Jon felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He smiled weakly. He didn't actually remember who was in the wrong this time, but for argument's sake, it was probably him. To his surprise, George smiled back at him - faintly, but it was there. Jon let out an excited gasp and his smile doubled. He ran upstairs to improve his appearance and general hygiene - it simply wouldn't do for George to see him in such a diabolical state. 

 

Two hours later, he rushed down the road towards George's house. He stood nervously, with a lump in his throat, at the door, smoothing down his outfit. Jon stopped breathing as he heard footsteps towards him. The door swung open to reveal a disorientated George. In that instant, Jon knew something was wrong. 

"Are you okay?" Jon asked softly. 

"Yeah." George avoided eye contact as he moved aside to let Jon in. 

Jon, definitely wasn't convinced. He narrowed his eyes as he inspected George's house. The floor was grubby, matching the familiar smell of weed that was wading through the house. George seemed paler than usual with eyeliner smudged all over his face, despite him only seeing him a few hours previously. He looked fine earlier? Jon stood by the dining room table. A piece of silver foil caught his attention. His eyes traced over the table in disbelief. Suddenly, it became evident what was going on. 

"What's all this?" He said, attempting to remain calm. 

"What?" George tried to compose himself. 

"Oh, you know, the foil, the needles, the drugs!" He cried, sarcastically. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" He answered.

"Take a look around!" Jon said, limbs flailing, "there's no denying it!"

"What do you know, anyway?" George folded his arms, "why do you care?"

"Why do I care? Why do I fucking care?" Jon screamed, "I'll tell you why! We're supposed to be together and I don't know whether you're aware, but I fucking love you."

George looked away shamefully. 

"Spliffs - yeah, alright, whatever, but smack?" Jon's voice softened slightly as it broke on the final word. 

George continued staring at the floor. Jon stepped towards him, but he stepped away. 

"So what if I am? It's got nothing to do with you!" George said, standing sheepishly. 

"It's got everything to do with me!" Jon's softness had vanished, "I hate to remind you, again, but you still happen to be my other half and we're also in one of the biggest bands in the world, in case you haven't noticed."

"And?" George said unfazed. 

"Unbelievable." Jon scoffed, pacing up and down the room. 

George rolled his eyes as he rolled a cigarette. Jon glared at him. The longer he glared, the more horrified he became as he promptly realised the severity of the problem. 

"How long?" Jon asked, although he wasn't sure he really wanted the answer. 

 "What?" George replied. 

"You know what!" Jon said aggressively. 

Huffing, George walked to the other side of the room. 

"Just.. answer the fucking question." He said, slightly enraged. 

"I don't know!" He snapped, "a few months, a year." 

"Oh my god!" Jon threw his head back in despair, "how did I not know?" 

George cocked his head. 

"How could I not notice you were on drugs!" He shouted, "I'm with you all the fucking time. Fuck, I knew something was up, but I never thought.. maybe I did notice.." 

"Give up the self pity darling, it's not a good look." George snarled. 

"Shut up!" Jon screamed, launching a nearby glass at him which narrowly missed. 

"Ah, it's nice to know your aim is still shit." George laughed. 

"I'm warning you!" Jon said, slowly but aggressively approaching him. 

Nothing but rage flowed through him, completely taking over. There wasn't a single coherent and rational thought in his head, he was utterly blinded by the fact the love of his life wasn't who he thought he was. How dare he do that to him? Who did he think he was, deceiving him in such a manner? In the heat of the moment, Jon swung for him, catching his eye, causing George to stumble back. 

"How dare you!" He sobbed, hitting him a few more times. 

"Jon!" George screamed. 

Immediately, he stopped. After taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his eyes. George sat and stared with a bloodied face, causing Jon to cry even more. 

"How could you!" He said weakly, moving off of him. 

For a few seconds, they sat in silence and stared at each other. 

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this!" Jon cried as he got up and fled. 

 

A while had past and Jon had done all he could to avoid George, but he couldn't put it off anymore. Reluctantly, he made his way to the studio to meet the others. 

He made his way in slowly. As he walked in, all was quiet and content. Roy was tuning his guitar in one corner and Mikey was testing his bass. 

"Jon!" Mikey said, greeting him with open arms. 

Jon gave him a small smile in return. 

"What's the matter with you?" Mikey and Roy stood over him. 

"Nothing." He said coldly. 

"Then why have you got a face like a smacked arse?" Roy said too enthusiastically. 

"I haven't!" Jon snapped, "can we just do what we came here to do?"

Roy and Mikey looked at each other and pulled a face. 

"Is it George?" Mikey asked delicately. 

Jon froze. 

"Why would it be George?" Jon replied with some aggression in his voice. 

"Because it usually is." Roy laughed. 

Jon shot them a disapproving look before putting his things on the table and making his way to the other side of the room. 

 

Before long, in walked George, making his presence known. 

"Alright boys?" George said, clearly high and drunk, but completely unaware of a partially hidden Jon. 

Jon shut his eyes tightly in despair. Finally, he looked up at the sorry state George was in. He shot a look to Mikey, who stared back at him with a high level of concern to which he, again, smiled weakly. Immediately, he was horrified by George's appearance. He had lost a significant amount of weight since he last saw him. Also, he was much paler than usual with dark patches and lifeless eyes. Just the sight of him, made Jon's eyes glassy. It was so much worse than before. Jon thought best to keep out of sight, he had nothing more to say to George. 

"Is everyone here?" George said, slurring slightly. 

"Yeah." Roy replied, looking over and in turn blowing Jon's cover. 

"Ah!" George squealed cheerfully, "the arsehole is here!" 

"Don't." Jon said blandly, eyes fixated to the floor. 

Roy and Mikey sighed. They had been here long enough to know where this was inevitably going. 

"Come on Jonny!" George cackled. 

Jon remained silent. 

George continued to taunt him. Roy and Mikey tried relentlessly to keep the peace, but it was no use. Jon stood up in a ferocious manner. 

"Will you shut up?" Jon shouted. 

"What if I don't?" George teased, getting up in his face. 

"I'll fucking make you." Jon said through gritted teeth. 

"Go on then!" George opened his arms. 

The others quickly intervened, pulling them away from each other. 

"Maybe that's enough for today, yeah? Roy said, turning to Mikey. 

"Yeah, I think you two should go home. Separately preferably." Mikey continued. 

With a huff, George sashayed out of the building, after glaring at Jon. 

"I don't know what to do." Jon sighed. 

 

A few hours had past and Jon had been left seething. At his wits end, he stormed round the corner and with every ounce of strength, banged on George's door. The very second the it was unlocked, Jon burst open the door.

"Oh, come in why don't you." George snarled. 

"Enough with the wise cracks." Jon said, pacing up and down. 

"What exactly do you want?" He asked. 

"I want you to stop." He replied abruptly, "I need you to stop."

George looked at him blankly. 

"Don't look at me like that, you know exactly what I mean." He spat. 

George laughed as he took a seat. 

"Why are you doing this?" Jon said, softening his voice. 

"Because I want to, and I can." George folded his arms. 

"I bet  _he's_ involved, isn't he?" Jon gritted his teeth. 

"Who?" George cocked his head. 

"Your waste of space mate." Jon said aggressively. 

"Marilyn?" He said. 

Even hearing the name made Jon's blood boil. 

"So what if he is? It's none of your business." George said bluntly. 

"Why do you keep saying that?" Jon cried, "it's supposed to be my business!" 

"Just get out, Jon." George frowned. 

"Why do you keep acting like I don't matter?" He said, becoming increasingly more upset, "like we don't matter.." 

George sighed, conflicted. 

"You don't own me Jon." He stated.  

"No, I don't, but you can't keep doing this! You'll end up dead!" He answered. 

George sat silently, even he couldn't argue with that. 

"Don't you care?" Jon's voice cracked. 

He sighed, refusing to utter a word. 

"I can't do this George!" He continued. 

"Well, you know where the door is." George said, avoiding Jon's stare. 

Jon stood, dumbfounded. 

"You really don't care do you?" Jon said, struggling to hold back the flood of tears. 

George rolled his eyes.

"Stop doing that!" Jon screamed, throwing whatever was closest, "you really don't care, do you?"

"Don't act like you give a shit, Jon." He said, furiously. 

"I do care, you dick!" He said endearingly, "of course I bloody care!"

Jon turned around. 

"You know I'll never forget the moment I realised I loved you." Jon said. 

"Oh yeah?" George replied sarcastically. 

"Yeah. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every time I was with you, I just wanted to hold you and kiss you." Jon gazed. 

George shut his eyes. 

"You made me so nervous, it was ridiculous." Jon laughed. 

He let out a small puff of laughter. 

"You know, I still feel the same about you now." Jon knelt beside him, "but you know what?"

"What?" George answered. 

"Maybe this world is just so cruel that maybe it's just not enough." Jon said sadly. 

"What'd you mean?" He asked. 

"I love you with everything I have, but I can't carry on like everything's fine anymore." Jon lowered his head in shame. 

"What?" George said, heartbroken. 

"Perhaps, somewhere, someday, in a less miserable time, we might be together.."

"What are you trying to say Jon?" He interrupted. 

"Don't forget about the good times, alright?" He sniffled, "the laughs, the songs, the shit we'd talk about."

"How poetic." He said snidely. 

"You'll forever be my everything, do you hear me? But we can't keep doing this!" He said, "I'm sick of having to fight you all the time!" 

"So this is my fault?" He began getting angry. 

"Mainly, yes." Jon said.

"Fuck off!" He shouted, "at least I'm not the closest case who makes out he's straight but secretly fucks blokes!" 

"Oh, piss off George! I've had it up to here with you!" He said. 

"Like I said earlier, you know where the door is!" George yelled. 

"Fine, that's it!" Jon gathered his things, "I'm done."

"About time!" George said. 

Jon bent down and got in George's face. 

"I just hope this is all worth it." He spat before almost running out of the room. 

"Don't let the door hit you on the arse on the way out!" He called, following him to the door. 

"Go fuck yourself George!" 

The door had slammed shut. 

 

Jon turned around, slamming his head on the freezing cold door, his eyes tightly shut. 

"Stupid, stupid!" He murmured, infuriated. 

He began breathing heavily. Slowly, he opened his eyes. As he did so, an army of tears that he tried so hard to repress came charging out of his eyes. He sank to the floor, heartbroken. There was no point anymore - in a matter of seconds, he lost everything that meant something to him. He held his knees tightly to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.  Unbeknownst to him, George mimicked his exact position on the other side of the door. Uncontrollably, they sobbed - devastated and defeated. All of a sudden, the sky blackened, bringing rain. At that moment, the world fell silent as if it was in mourning. Maybe it was? The only problem with silence is that, once again, the only company was their thoughts. Deep down, they knew they couldn't deny that the blame was on them both. The only glimmer of hope was that someday, somehow, somewhere, they may reconcile, they may get back what they lost. Was it really the end? Perhaps, but perhaps not - something they buried in their hearts. 


End file.
